Restore
by Mare Liberum
Summary: Minerva is traumatized following the war. As her depression and eating disorder worsen, her suffering becomes obvious to all around her. An accident occurs & a secret is revealed via the Daily Prophet: Minerva is married to Clara Caspary, a prominent researcher in the Dept of Mysteries. Together, they must face the Wizarding World, Minerva's demons, & Rita Skeeter's crafty schemes.
1. Preface

"Seven years had passed since the end of the Second War and slowly, the broken world was knit back together. With the re-organization of the Minsitry of Magic under Kingsley Shacklebolt and the end of Voldemort's reign, there was a newfound hope and optimism. Great strides were being made in the equality of magical creatures with the efforts of activists like Hermione Granger. Prejudice based on blood status was less than it had ever been. Aurors, under the direction of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, were trained not only in the art of investigation and defense, but also peaceful mediation. Azkaban was renamed Caliban, in an effort to promote an attitude of reconciliation. With Luna Lovegood's advisement to the Ministry, a coalition was formed, offering amnesty to war criminals who testified. Victims and perpetrators healed together through restorative justice that encompassed all of the Wizarding World. With the guidance of Clara Caspary, we asked the questions, "Why did Potter survive? What was Voldemort's greatest weakness? And what is the power of love?" A new era had begun" (Rigmarolsky 184).

Some, however, could not reap the benefits of the new world. They had suffered too much. The damage was irreparable.


	2. Chapter 1

It was mid-September, early into the school year at Hogwarts, but much of the start-of-term excitement had begun to die down leaving behind a peaceful lull. Most of the students were in the Great Hall eating lunch or wandering to and from the library or the common rooms.

In the Infirmary, Madam Pomfrey had busied herself writing invoices and completing patient reports. She had no students under her care at the moment but the day was young. There was bound to be injury in a school that taught children how to perform dangerous magic and to fly on brooms.

Taking a moment to stretch her neck, she looked up just in time to see a billow of emerald robes and a flash of ebony hair that she immediately recognized.

"Minerva! What can I do for you? Has one of your students caught the gnome flu?" she joked warmly, knowing how the Headmistress cared for her students as if they were her children.

"No, Poppy, this is a personal matter." Minerva peeked nervously over her shoulder to see if anyone was in the hall.

"Let's go to my office." Poppy motioned her to follow. She led Minerva to a large room in the back of the hospital wing with rows of shelves and cupboards filled with vials and jars of all sorts of colorful and peculiar substances. She took a seat at a large wooden desk and Minerva sat opposite.

"What seems to be the problem?" Poppy cast a silencing spell to maintain Minerva's confidentiality.

"I fainted—when I got out of the shower this morning. The portraits said that it was probably time to come see you and I heeded their advice."

Poppy smiled. She knew the Headmistress was a practical woman, after all, though at times overly selfless at her own cost.

"I'm glad you did. They do give good advice every so often. Anyways," she cleared her throat, "was this the first time you fainted recently?"

"Yes, but I've been feeling weak and more tired as of late." Minerva seemed to disappear into her thoughts briefly but then regained her composer, "Just a little overextended."

Poppy kept her face neutral as she gazed across the desk at Minerva. Years of practice allowed her to keep her emotions in check, but she was concerned nonetheless as she knew that the Headmistress' remark was undoubtedly an understatement.

"Well," she responded warmly, "with your responsibilities as Headmistress, rebuilding the school, as well as your advisement to the Ministry and Gringotts, not to mention the physical and emotional burden of these past few years…"

"It is my duty," interrupted Minerva flatly. Her usually glittering emerald eyes were dark and cloudy.

"Of course," Poppy continued encouragingly, hoping to learn more about what was ailing her, but Minerva remained silent. "Let's see what I can do for you."

Poppy lead Minerva to one of the beds in the infirmary and secured the white linen curtain around them with magic so that they would not be disturbed. She waved her wand and cast another silencing spell. Minerva lifted herself onto the edge of the bed and Poppy moved in closer to examine her.

As she easily cast disinfecting charms on both of her hands, she coolly observed the Headmistress, looking for any discernable signs of illness. Minerva had her head turned to the side and was wringing her hands, obviously uncomfortable, and Poppy noticed a small sparkle on Minerva's temple—a glamor charm. Minerva never wore glamors! With her Presbyterian upbringing, she valued modesty and did not spend much time on her looks. This unnerved Poppy as it was very unlike the Headmistress. She must be hiding something!

"I'm going to have to do a complete physical." Poppy steeled herself, knowing Minerva would probably not would like this.

"Can't you just use a diagnostic spell?" Minerva's eyes were wide with fear and there was an edge to her voice.

Poppy inwardly cringed. She knew Minerva did not like her privacy intruded upon when she wasn't ready, even by her friends. But why was she so apprehensive?

"No, I'm sorry, dear, and I also need you to remove the glamor charm."

Minerva's brogue thickened as her voice rose, "I _certainly_ do not see what _that_ has to do with my fainting. Plenty of wizards and witches wear glamor charms daily!"

"Yes, many do," Poppy said in her most authoritative voice, "and I would ask all of them to remove them if they were my patients. Now please do not make this difficult."

Minerva glared at her for a moment and Poppy was about to ask her again, but she sighed loudly and finally acquiesced, waving her hand in front of herself. As the glamor charm dissipated, purplish blue rings appeared around her eyes, her cheeks sunk painfully, and her already fair skin paled even more. She was ashen and looked sickly. She slumped forward slightly and looked down at the floor.

It was now Poppy's turn to stare at her, wide-eyed with fear. She couldn't help it.

Though Minerva still possessed a regal beauty, with her straight nose, strong jaw, and glossy raven hair, her gaunt features and obvious exhaustion were difficult to overlook. Whatever was wrong with her had taken quite a toll and she was suffering acutely.

_Oh Minerva_, thought Poppy as her heart wrenched. Poppy wanted to reach out and hug the woman before her, to comfort her, but that would never do. Though she cared for Minerva and considered them to be friends, she knew very little about her personal life compared to what she knew about the other professors at Hogwarts. Minerva was her boss. She was also a patient under her care as Minerva did not want to take the chance of having personal information leaked by anyone at St. Mungos; she was already in the public eye. Poppy had the utmost respect for the woman and kept a professional distance. Throughout her career, she had given Minerva contraceptive potions on multiple occasions, without asking questions, and had prescribed her dreamless draughts, without lecturing her, to help with the after-effects of the First and Second Wizarding Wars, not to mention the fact that she had healed her of all the injuries she sustained during that time. Of course she had done so for the other professors too, but this was different. Minerva now had the school on her shoulders. As the most powerful witch alive following Dumbledore's death, she was looked up to by all of the Wizarding World. Poppy's job was more important than ever right now and in order to help Minerva, she had to know the whole truth.

It was times like these that Poppy was glad of the objective distance that her training as a healer had given her. She had to finish the exam as usual in order to figure out what was wrong, though she now doubted the cause, and more importantly the cure of Minerva's fainting was purely physical.

"Could you step on the scale please, dear?"

Minerva got up from the table and slid off her emerald outer robe and black inner robe so that she was only wearing a long, black, high-necked dress. After wandlessly banishing her boots, she stepped on the scale, not saying a word. Poppy couldn't tell what Minerva was thinking of feeling. Her gaze was still locked on the floor.

Poppy leaned over to read the scale and couldn't help but tut softly as the number was much too low. At the peak of health, Minerva was quite slender but this was excessive.

"I'm sorry, dear, but I need you to take off your dress. You're quite thin and I need to get an accurate weight."

Minerva did not protest this time, which surprised Poppy as she thought this would have irritated the extremely modest witch. She turned away politely to allow her to banish the dress to the bed. As she turned back, however, her breath caught at the sight of her friend.

Poppy let her eyes drift down Minerva's body. Her ribs and pelvis were clearly visible beneath her pale skin. She looked like a ghost, except for some light purple bruising running down her spindly legs and knobby knees— evidence that blood was indeed still coursing through her veins. Four red, starburst shaped scars stretched across her chest and sides. _The stunners_. She had not seen the marks since they had healed. Minerva shivered and wrapped her arms around her emaciated body. Her eyes were downcast. She was so small, so frail, and so different from the strong, resolute woman everyone knew as Minerva Katherine McGonagall: Headmistress of Hogwarts, Master in Transfiguration, and war hero.

Poppy chastised herself. _How had she not seen this happening? Why had this happened?_ She no longer had the will to control her emotions and fear and guilt was evident upon her face.

"Please don't…" Minerva began weakly upon seeing the healer's obvious display of emotion, but Poppy shushed her and summoned a thick blanket which she proceeded to wrap around her friend.

"I am not going to pretend that I did not see what I just saw. You and I both know why you fainted. Your body has been under too much stress and you have not been caring for yourself. There is only so much I can do for you as a healer. I refuse to simply give you pepperup potions day after day, like some run-of-the-mill trainee at St. Mungo's."

Poppy felt bad for being so forward but she was determined to set things right.

"I have been through too many wars and experienced too much death, Minerva, to stand idly by. I am your friend, you know that. I only want to help you and to do so, we must talk. Today."

With that, Poppy reached out and pulled Minerva into an earnest hug. She then took a step back, looked Minerva kindly, but seriously in the eyes, and headed back to her office to allow her friend to get dressed.


	3. Chapter 2

As soon as Poppy entered her office, she removed her wand from the pocket of her apron and transfigured the wooden desk and chairs into a simple yet elegant dinette. She then summoned Dewey, the house elf that often aided her in the hospital wing. After a few seconds, there was a soft pop and the elf appeared in front of her, looking up with large amber eyes.

"Matron called for Dewey?"

"Yes. Hello Dewey. The Headmistress and I will be sharing lunch. Please bring us pumpkin soup and a few slices of bread. Also, Dewey, some tea would be nice."

"Certainly Matron! Dewey will return shortly!"

The house elf gave a deep bow and an awkward salute before disapparating. Poppy had never seen her salute like that. She was obviously excited to be bringing lunch for the Headmistress.

When Minerva finally entered the room, she was clad once more in her traditional robes and had reapplied the glamors. The blanket, however, was once again wrapped around her shoulders. Sitting in one of the chairs, she complemented Poppy on her handiwork, obviously trying to lessen some of the tension that had built between the two women.

"I never knew you were so skilled at transfiguration."

"Well dear, one must always be prepared. Transfiguration was quite the Gods-send during my time in the Healing Corps. One never knew when one could expect an airdrop."

"Well, I daresay you could give me a run for my money."

"I highly doubt that. My skills lie in healing. Speaking of which…" Poppy reached for a small vial that was lying on the table and uncorked it, handing it to Minerva.

"This is a nutrition potion. I will not overwhelm your body with calories right away but this will restore you of vitamins and minerals."

Minerva thanked Poppy and upended the vial. As her attention came to the bowl of pumpkin soup that had been set in front of her by an overly enthusiastic Dewey, she picked up the spoon and lowered it into the thick orange liquid. As she brought the spoon to her lips, she couldn't keep her nose from wrinkling as her animagus senses were overwhelmed by the smell of spices and fresh cream. It was warm though, and it tasted good, so Minerva allowed herself a few spoonfuls before she placed her napkin on the table and reached for her tea.

Poppy, who had been buttering two thick slices of bread, had been watching Minerva out of the corner of her eye the entire time. The Headmistress had taken the nutrition potion with little difficulty but her soup bowl was still full. She had her teacup clutched in her hands and was staring at the soup, giving no indication of finishing it.

She needed to regain her strength. Poppy knew that whatever was troubling her friend would probably improve somewhat if she could get her to eat enough to better fuel her brain. That being said, Poppy knew that Minerva had been subjected to quite a bit of stress today. She was intensely private and yet had been made to stand before her, both literally and figuratively, in her underwear. It was quite a change in the dynamic of their relationship. She didn't know how much Minerva could take before she cracked and she didn't want to scare her away.

Minerva was a stickler for rules and a natural leader, but she was terrible at taking orders. Somehow, Poppy had to coax Minerva to eat more without invoking her infamous Scottish ire. She chose to act nonchalant to test the waters.

"Would you like a piece of bread, dear?" Poppy asked as if buttering bread for the Headmistress was commonplace.

"No, thank you. I'm quite full."

Hmph. Poppy expected that. She knew that this would be difficult. As much as she didn't want her caring for Minerva to be a battle of wills she had to push further.

"How long have you had difficulty eating?"

Minerva looked up sharply and narrowed her eyes. Poppy was sure she was about to be hexed, but suddenly Minerva's demeanor changed. Her features softened and she looked up to the ceiling as if praying to the Gods. She groaned dejectedly and rested her forehead on her hands.

"I am so tired, Poppy." Rubbing her temples she continued, "I have not been myself since the war. At first I was merely busy. My needs were unimportant in the aftermath compared to the needs of my students and their families. Hogwarts was supposed to be safe! I had to make sure it was safe again! Most of the victims, not to mention most of the criminals, were once students in my classroom! I knew them, Poppy, _taught_ them! How do you keep something safe when the danger comes from inside! And Dumbledore…" Minerva's voice cracked with emotion.

"It's okay, dear. It's alright." Poppy reached for Minerva's hand to comfort her but received a feral glare that caused her to pull back sharply.

"I'm sorry. I should have asked before I touched you." The healer was afraid that her action had caused Minerva to retreat. Their relationship was much too tenuous at the moment but to her relief, the Headmistress re-schooled her countenance.

"No, no! I'm sorry." Minerva spoke softly, her Scottish upbringing evident in her voice. "To answer your question, since the war, I have little will to eat, let alone the volition to care about what happens to me after my duty is done to this school. I cannot rest, cannot sleep. I cannot even read!"

Silence ensued but then, despite both their attempts to remain stone faced, laughs cut through the tension.

"You remind me of Hermione! Or maybe Hermione reminds me of you!"

Poppy thought about the time she had spent with Ms. Granger. Mrs. Weasley had been worried about the girl as she had been having nightmares and flashbacks and had sought help from the healer. No spells or potions could cure her but Poppy had been trained in Muggle psychotherapy. She had always seen the usefulness of some aspects of Muggle medicine and though it was not a quick or easy process, it was an effective one.

Despite the trauma she endured at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange, Poppy had had the honor of watching the young Griffindor grow into a vivacious and resilient woman. What had become increasingly clear in working with Hermione was the sheer love and support she received and accepted from those around her. She had Harry and Ron, and even her failed marriage to the latter had not destroyed their friendship. She had two families—her own back in the Muggle World and the Weasleys. She still suffered, but the pain was buffered by the infinite love and support she received. Poppy couldn't help but wonder who Minerva had to love and support her.

"Minerva, if you don't mind me asking, you've talked of your brothers and nieces and nephews, do you have any other family or friends with whom you are close? Anyone to confide in or at least help you for a little while?"

Poppy watched Minerva closely. She didn't want to miss anything. The Headmistress was difficult to read but not impossible. For everything that went unsaid, there was always some clue that there was more to the story.

Minerva squirmed uncomfortably in her seat and let out an irritated breath, "Why? What does it matter?"

"I can't watch over you all the time and I need to know that you're taking care of yourself." Suddenly, Poppy remembered something from Minerva's earlier statement, "You and Dumbledore…"

"…were dear friends," Minerva finished decisively.

Poppy racked her brain but for all the time they had known each other, she could not remember Minerva dating anyone. At the Yule Balls and Ministry functions, she would always go with Dumbledore. Poppy could not even remember Minerva dating anyone when she was a student. Her first year as Healing Matron was also Minerva's first year at Hogwarts. She had often treated the willowy girl for quidditch injuries. When she had a career-ending fall in her sixth year, the only people that had come to visit her were her brothers and the quidditch team. There were a few Griffindor and Ravenclaw students who trickled in and out but she did not appear to be involved with any of them. Of course one never knew for sure. Poppy _had_ prescribed Minerva contraceptive potions. The woman couldn't be _completely_ alone.

"So there is no one? No one at all?"

Minerva raised her eyebrows, assuming the characteristic 'Professor McGonagall' look of incredulousness, "For a Hufflepuff, you are exceedingly unfair."

"Well, dear, caring is not a game of fairness," Poppy countered, still waiting for an answer. She had all the patience in the world.

Silence fell between the two women. Poppy took a bite of her bread as she continued to observe the Headmistress. Minerva seemed to be lost in her thoughts as she sipped her tea.

It was Minerva who spoke first, "I have been contemplating for a while now how I would break the news…"

After a few seconds, Poppy prompted her to continue, "What news, dear?"

Minerva looked at her squarely, meeting her gaze, "I have been married for almost twenty-five years".

"Merlin's beard, Minerva!" She had expected a secret relationship but _marriage_? "To whom? Why did you not tell anyone?"

"I couldn't! My brothers knew, as did Dumbledore and a few people at the Ministry, but that is all! It was too dangerous! The first war had ended soon after we married and there were still Death Eaters on the loose! With Potter alive and in our hands, and Clara working for the Department of Mysteries, we couldn't take the chance!"

"Wait! Clara? _My_ Clara?" Poppy couldn't contain her shock.

"Yes, Poppy. I am married to Clara Caspary."


	4. Chapter 3

Clara Caspary was a handsome woman with wavy, chestnut brown hair perpetually fixed into a stylish yet practical French twist. Her uniform of slim tweed pants and smart oxford shirts flattered her athletic form and at seventy-one, one year older than her wife, she looked to be in her mid-thirties thanks to the slowed rate of wizard aging. To most, Clara was a no-nonsense kind of person. She was uncommonly intelligent and was recognized by all her peers as the most brilliant mind in her field. Few but close friends, however, could see past her perfectionism and relentless dedication to her work, which often made her come across as harsh and unapproachable.

As the head of the Bureau of Love Studies, a sub-division of the Department of Mysteries, most of Clara's days were spent overseeing research, writing proposals, reviewing manuscripts, or applying for grants. Since the end of the war, her research had become a little more transparent to the general public and she now also gave lectures and made statements on the intricate relationships between love, life, and magic.

Though she enjoyed most aspects of her work, the last decade had been exhausting. When the Ministry fell, her memory had been obliviated for her own protection and for the protection of her research. It was all for naught, however, because despite Dumbledore's constant ramblings on the power of love, Voldemort never realized that Harry's greatest defense was right under his nonexistent nose. By the time Clara's memory had recovered enough for her to remember the more critical details of her life, six months had passed and the reconstruction of the Wizarding World was already well under way. The next six months were spent recuperating at her London flat, knitting the rest of her memories back together, and meeting with her department now and then to stay in the loop.

During holidays and weekends when Minerva could get away from Hogwarts, the couple shared the privacy of the McGonagall Manor. They both understood and respected each other's need for separation regarding their respective careers. Minerva lived at Hogwarts for eight months out of the year and Clara couldn't talk about everything that occurred in the Department of Mysteries. Nevertheless, despite the freedom that the Manor gave them to openly interact with each other away from work and social expectations, their recent conversations tended to center on the love studies curriculum they were developing for Hogwarts or the progress of the "truck", the colloquial shortening of the Truth, Reparation, Reconciliation, and Unity Commission (TRRUC). Never once did Clara bring up her guilt for not being able to fight in the war by her wife's side and share the burden of the horrors she experienced, nor did they talk about Minerva's innermost thoughts or her declining health. They had spent a third of their lives together, survived two wars, yet the fear and shame of having these conversations were, at the moment, insurmountable.

With her work and her marriage weighing heavily on her shoulders, Clara had been thrilled to see that she had been scheduled lunch with Poppy Pomfrey that afternoon. She had interned with the Matron when she was a student at Hogwarts as she was considering becoming a healer. Though she ultimately chose another path, Poppy had become a lifelong friend and mentor.

"Mrs. Quick?" Clara called, peaking her head out from around her office door.

"Yes, Madam Caspary?"

"Where did Poppy Pomfrey say she wanted to meet?"

"The usual place, Madam."

"Brilliant! Thank you." Clara made it a point to act civil around Mrs. Quick whenever possible. She rather liked the older woman, especially since she was the only secretary she had ever had that wasn't afraid of her and her exacting ways.

Walking at a brisk pace with her chin up in a "don't you dare ask me a question on my lunch break" manner, Clara made her way to the canteen. Poppy was easy enough to spot in her red healer's dress amongst the sea of black business robes and she sat across from her at the little table tucked in the corner. "Hello, Poppy!"

"Well hello, my dear!"

"I'm sorry it's been so long since I've come to visit you!"

"I understand, my dear. It does an old woman good to get out of that dusty castle every now and again anyways."

"Oh Poppy, you're not _that_ old but I'm glad you're here. How is Mr. Pomfrey? John? The grandkids?"

Conversation flowed easily between the two women as they munched on their sandwiches. They flitted between discussing Clara's upcoming lectures, classic muggle novels (which they both found hilarious and fascinating), and the newest shenanigans of the Hogwart's students until they fell into an amicable silence.

Clara looked at her mentor and smiled but it was Poppy who spoke first. "I saw Minerva yesterday." Her voice was measured and serious.

The sudden change in atmosphere made Clara uneasy. "Oh really?" she replied tentatively. Was her wife okay? What did Poppy know?

"Yes." Poppy cast a silencing spell. "She gave me permission to speak with you regarding her condition."

"Oh."

"She told me about you two."

"Ooh." The brilliant Ravenclaw was lost for words.

"She's not doing well." Poppy said softly.

"You think I don't know that?" Clara hissed. She felt anger quickly build in her chest.

"Clara, dear," Poppy's voice was still soft but now filled with emotion, "I am merely confirming what we already know. Minerva's a stubborn woman but now that she's come to me and is cooperating, you and I can devise a plan to improve her physical health. In the meantime, I still know very little about her. I'd like your input on what might be distressing her emotionally."

Clara sighed deeply. She was still angry and upset but her mentor was right. She had not dared push Minerva to seek help before she was ready as she knew it would backfire. Years of watching her wife gradually waste away, however, had been heartbreaking. Clara also thought that it had been incredibly unfair. It took everything she had to not break down right there in the canteen. "Let's go somewhere more private."

"Yes, let's." Poppy agreed.

Together, they solemnly walked to the Ministry Library. Clara lead them to one of the private study rooms and warded the heavy door as it closed behind them. The room was barren save for an old oak table with a lamp and a small pensieve set on top. On either side of the table were two ancient chairs with green velvet upholstery. It was small and dusty but Clara felt much safer in the confined space. Kicking off her shoes, she sat in one of the chairs and tucked her feet up under her, much like she had always done when she was a girl. "You know," she said, looking into her mentor's grey eyes, "when we were first married, it hurt me most that I couldn't tell my parents. Later, however, the only person I really longed to tell was you. You have become a mother to me."

"Oh my dear!" Poppy placed her hand on her heart. "Tell me now! How did you meet?"

Bringing her wand to her temple, Clara slowly withdrew a long silvery thread. "I wish this moment could have been had under better circumstances, but here we are," she said as she lowered the thread into the pensieve and pushed it towards Poppy.


	5. Chapter 4

Poppy closed her eyes and lowered her face into the pensieve. When her nose touched the cool water, a kaleidoscope of colors swirled around her and materialized into a large room that was bustling with people. As Poppy's eyes adjusted, she found that she looking down on a festive ballroom. Towards the far wall she could see a resplendent Christmas tree and a jazzy rendition of "The Holly and the Ivy" was playing on an old gramophone.

Unlike the pensieves that Poppy had used before, this one did not give her the perspective of actually standing in the room but rather that she was watching the scene in a muggle film. Poppy quickly spotted her young friend amongst the crowd.

Clara was at the corner of the bar, resting her forearms on the polished wood. A group of young men, waiting for drinks, had congregated next to her and when one jostled into her, she scowled.

When the barkeep handed her a glass of wine, she turned around but was jostled again from behind, causing her to fall forward, right into the arms of a tall, skinny girl. Clara's chin hung over the girl's shoulder and the girl's hands were on her waist in an accidental, albeit intimate embrace. The two girls quickly disentangled themselves. Clara's cheeks were deep pink and the girl, though not embarrassed, looked thoroughly shocked.

It was the girl who recovered first. She grinned and pointed to Clara's full wine glass. "Would you look at that, you didn't even spill your drink."

Clara held up the glass as if she were making a toast, "all thanks to your cat-like reflexes." She held out her hand, "um, Clara Caspary. Pleasure to meet you."

"Minerva McGonagall. Pleasure's all mine."

Despite her youth, the girl's voice was rich and assured. She had a proper air about her which was further emphasized by the full set of maroon robes she was wearing, complete with buckled boots. Clara, by comparison, had compromised by wearing a Muggle dress and pumps with a dressy, red robe over the top.

"I suppose I owe you a drink now."

"Oh no, let me get it. I don't know if I'd be able to catch you a second time...Wait here." In a few long strides, Minerva shoved her way through the crowd like a quidditch player. Her long, ebony hair whipped behind her magnificently.

Clara stared, transfixed.

When Minerva returned she flashed Clara a playful smile. "Would you like to get some air?"

"Yes, very much."

The two girls zigzagged through the crowd until they made their way to the front courtyard. Clara used her wand to clear the snow off of a bench just outside the entrance and Minerva cast a series of warming spells all around them.

It was a clear night, but chilly. Tiny snowflakes were being whipped around by the wind and the puffs of the girl's breaths were visible in the air. Clara blew a stream of white vapor out of the corner of her mouth and held an imaginary pipe in her hand, which made Minerva laugh.

"You know, that suits you... it makes you look very intellectual."

Clara pointed the pipe at Minerva. "How did you know I was the intellectual type?" she teased.

"I didn't. You just reminded me of someone..." A wave of sadness washed over her face but was promptly sublimated. "My friend Dougal was like that. He would sit outside in the evenings to think... smoke his pipe."

"It sounds like Dougal was very important to you."

"Yes, he was, but we…well, never mind... What do you do at the Ministry, Clara?" Minerva sounded eager to change the subject.

"I'm a research assistant in the Department of Mysteries."

"Really? Do you like it?"

"Yes, though truthfully I'm feeling quite restless at the moment. I think I'm going to pursue a Mastery soon." She looked expectantly at the other girl. "What about you, Minerva? I've been trying to place you and I think I remember you from Hogwarts, though I was a few years ahead. Did you take Dumbledore's seventh year transfiguration class as a fourth year?"

"Yes, that was me, and seeing as we can't be more than a year or two apart, you must be the lucky Ravenclaw who received their Hogwarts letter at eight."

Clara's shoulders sagged and she nodded.

Noticing the sudden change in the other girl, Minerva became concerned and reached out to gently grab hold of her forearm. "I'm so sorry. Did I say something?"

"No, actually you said the right thing." Clara patted Minerva's hand. "I really do think that it was either luck or by some mistake that I received my letter so early."

"Really? Why? I would have been thrilled."

"Hmm... Many people have told me that...In truth, I might have been intellectually ready but emotionally, _certainly_ not."

"_Really?_"

Clara eyed Minerva. Seemingly satisfied, she continued. "Two years is a long time... for a child, I mean. When I arrived at Hogwarts, my classmates were all on the verge of puberty...mature thinking...sophisticated relationships. Compared to them, I was a baby. I found that I couldn't connect to them, nor they to me. By the time a year had passed, I couldn't relate entirely to the new first years either. I was profoundly lonely during much of my time at Hogwarts and very depressed."

Minerva took Clara's hand in her own. "What did you do after you graduated? You still had two years before you were of age, right?"

"Yes, though I actually spent an extra year at Hogwarts interning with Madam Pomfrey. After that, I took a year off before coming to the Ministry. I've been here for three years."

Minerva squeezed Clara's hand and then let go. "I took a year off after I graduated as well."

"You did? That surprises me!"

"Why?" Minerva chuckled. "I had my reasons."

"Dougal?" Clara inquired.

"Yes, Dougal."

The two sat in silence for a few moments, sipping their drinks. Clara noticed that the skinny girl was shivering and took the opportunity to cast a few more warming spells.

"Would you like to go back inside?"

"Not particularly. The warming spells will work in a few minutes and besides, I enjoy talking with you."

Clara nodded but nevertheless used her wand to transfigure the cocktail napkin she had been holding into a blanket which she draped over their legs.

"Thanks, that's pretty good," said Minerva, fingering a corner of the blanket. "I hope to pursue a Mastery in transfiguration in a few years."

"Well," Clara nudged the other girl in the ribs. "From what I remember of you in class, if anyone were able to do it, it would be you."

"Honestly?" A mischievous smile crept over Minerva's face. "Have you ever transfigured a bludger into a rhinoceros?"

"What?" Clara giggled. "Why? Have you?"

The two girls were soon deep in conversation. Their eyes sparkled with interest and mirth, and they waved their hands about animatedly. Every once in a while, they burst into raucous guffaws that could no longer be held in. After a few minutes, Minerva scooted closer and let her hand drift to Clara's knee as she tried to solidify a point. Clara leaned in closer as well and rested her head on Minerva's shoulder, exhausted from the heaves of laughter.

Poppy started when the doors to the entrance were flung open and a man stepped outside. Almost immediately, he noticed Clara and Minerva and looked them up and down. This lasted for an agonizing second before he muttered, "Damn lesbians," and disapparated.

Clara stood up abruptly. The blanket fell to the ground. "It's not like that!" she cried as she took one large step back.

"_Okay_," said Minerva, with sangfroid.

"I mean, I wouldn't do anything to you and even—"

"Clara!" Minerva maintained perfect composure as she interrupted the other girl's ramblings. "He was talking about both of us so unless you found some truth in his statement that I'm unaware of, I didn't take it to mean anything at all."

"Oh." Clara's cheeks became deep pink again and she sat on the far end of the bench.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Minerva huffed and crossed her legs. She crossed them the other way and then finally stood up. "Let's go for a walk."

The silence continued as they headed off down the street, maintaining a careful distance between each other. Minerva was the first to try to overcome the awkwardness. "So, Clara, what did you think of the latest C.S. Lewis book?"

"How do you know I read it?"

"Come on, a scholar like yourself? Of course you read it."

"Fine." She took a deep breath. "The Final Battle. Hmm... well, the Christian theology was fascinating and I got the bit about Plato's Allegory of the Cave, but I'm still stuck on Susan. It seems harsh to me that she didn't come to Aslan's country..."

As Clara chatted away, Minerva grinned at the intelligent girl beside her.

Poppy smiled at the sight of her young Clara. She looked extraordinary in the night. Her eyes gleamed with passion and her tousled hair reflected the street lights so that it looked like a golden halo. She had a light, jaunty gait and her red robe billowed about her giving her the overall effect of effervescence.

Minerva kept stealing glances in Clara's direction and finally, Clara caught her in the act. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

For the first time that evening, Minerva was flustered. "I'm not! I mean, well, I'm just enjoying myself is all."

"Right..." said Clara. She scrutinized Minerva's face. "Merlin's beard, your lips are blue!"

Without thinking, she grabbed Minerva's hands and pressed them to her stomach to warm them. "Icicles!" she gasped. Holding Minerva's hands to her body with one hand and throwing her arm around the taller girl's shoulders, she led them in a half sprint to the nearest café. As they burst through the doors, the barista looked up in surprise and cocked her eyebrow at the girls' odd position.

Clara let go of Minerva immediately but Minerva remained frozen in place. Realizing how inappropriate she looked with both hands just under Clara's breasts, she erupted into a fit of laughter.

"It seems that you just cannot keep your hands off me," Clara accused, which made the barista quickly avert her gaze and caused Minerva to cackle even louder.

Grabbing the girl by the arm, Clara led her to the fireplace at the back of the café to avoid making more of a scene. She pulled a chair close to the fire, pushed Minerva into it, and pulled another up for herself.

Once Minerva's teeth stopped chattering, she glanced sidelong at Clara and flashed her a coy smile. "Was that one of the healing techniques you learned from Madam Pomfrey?"

Clara said nothing but eyed Minerva for a moment before getting up and returning with two big mugs of cocoa.

Finally she spoke. "You know, Minerva, you are a very queer girl. One minute I think you must be the very image of self-control and the next you engage in the most unseemly behavior!"

Minerva lifted her chin and looked down her nose at Clara. "You and I both know that it was you who placed my hands on your abdomen."

"Sure, but it was you who failed to removed them."

Minerva chuckled. "Yes, well, I guess you're right...Now hand over that mug!" She grabbed the cocoa from Clara and took a big gulp which left foam on her nose and upper lip.

"You see? That's exactly what I mean!" huffed Clara. She retrieved a handkerchief from inside her robe and handed it to Minerva.

Once she had wiped her face, Minerva scourgified the handkerchief and handed it back. When Clara grabbed hold of it, however, Minerva did not let go. Her eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared, and her face and neck were flushed. "Clara, my father is a Muggle minister. I have disobeyed all of his wishes and ran away from home. You would act the same way if you were me." She let go of the handkerchief. "Besides, I think I'm dealing with my freedom relatively well. Thank you for the cocoa. I will be going."

With that, she stood to her full height, turned on her heal, and marched out the door.

Clara, dazed, sat there for a moment before getting up to run after her. She had to jog to catch up as Minerva was already a ways down the street.

"Minerva! Minerva, wait!" She grabbed hold of her arm. "Minerva, I'm sorry! You've done nothing wrong! This has just been a really strange evening for me."

Minerva spun around, her eyes feral. Her voice was low. "You wanna know something strange? You wanna know why I ran away from home?"

Clara had to crane her neck to look up at the other girl. "Why?"

Suddenly, however, Minerva's anger dissipated as quickly as it evolved. Tears began to roll down her cheeks and her shoulders shook as she was wracked with sobs.

Reacting out of instinct, Clara rushed forward and wrapped her arms around the girl. She rocked her gently back and forth.

Minerva took in a long ragged breath. "I refused to marry Dougal because I didn't want to lie to him," she whispered, "not because he was a Muggle and I was a witch but because I was falling in love with his sister instead of him. One night, I almost kissed her and she told the whole village that I had tried to seduce her. My father blamed me. He said that I was possessed by the devil."

"Shhh, it's okay," whispered Clara. "You'll be okay." She stroked Minerva's hair as the girl continued to cry into her shoulder.

When at last she calmed down and her breathing became even, Clara used her thumbs to wipe away the remaining tears from beneath Minerva's bloodshot eyes. Her fingers swooped across Minerva's high cheekbones and she looked at the girl tenderly.

Clara took Minerva's hand in her own and they began to walk back to the Ministry.

After they had walked for a while, Clara opened her mouth as if she was about to say something and hesitated for a moment before speaking. "The Wizarding World is not as harsh as the Muggle World."

"I know," said Minerva with renewed composure, "but it's not perfect."

Clara nodded.

The two continued to walk. When they arrived at the Ministry, they both sat back down on the bench just outside the entrance, their hands still clasped between them.

The wind gusted and Minerva's loose hair blew up and brushed Clara's cheek.

Clara turned towards the girl and slowly reached out to smooth the long ebony tresses and tuck them into the back of Minerva's outer robe. She grasped the corners of the robe and brought them closer together to block out the chilly air. Still holding onto the front of her clothing, Clara looked up to gaze into Minerva's eyes. She leaned in close to whisper into the girl's ear. "I like you, Minerva. I've been trying to make myself not like you ever since we first sat on this bench but it's not working."

Minerva gasped as Clara's warm breath tickled her neck but leaned in as well to cradle Clara's face in her hands. Slowly, she brought their lips together and kept them there until Clara began to move her lips hungrily across her own.

When Minerva pulled back to catch her breath, Clara whimpered from the loss of contact. "How can this be wrong?" she whined. She nipped at Minerva's chin and bottom lip to try to coax their lips back together.

Minerva placed her hands on Clara's shoulders and held her at arm's length, further increasing the distance between them. "This is not merely a matter of right or wrong..."

"I know, I'm sorry," Clara apologized. She straightened herself on the bench. "We need time to think."

"Yes," agreed Minerva, "time..."

Such sensible words, however, were not enough to keep them from seeking out the each other's hand and entwining their fingers back together.

The image blurred and spun and Poppy soon regained her faculties. She lifted her face from the pensieve and looked around to get her bearings. Clara was still sitting with her in the study room but her eyes were closed and her breathing was heavy. She had fallen asleep. Unsure of how much time had passed while she was watching the memory, Poppy searched the room for a clock.

The frantic movement woke Clara and upon seeing what her mentor was doing, she looked at her watch. "It's only been ten minutes," she said as she yawned. "Sorry I fell asleep on you. I never realize how tired I am until I have nothing to do."

"I understand, dear," Poppy said, patting her greying hair into place. With Minerva's condition, it was surprising that Clara was in as good of shape as she was.

Poppy settled back in her chair. "So _that_ was the meeting of the two greatest minds in history?"

Clara smirked. "One of the great meetings. Our relationship didn't have a clear trajectory in the beginning. After the Christmas party, we didn't actually see each other for a few weeks. We both had our own issues to work through but we kept running into each other at the Ministry after that... After about a year, we couldn't deny our attraction to one another. We were getting reckless. Of course we couldn't be seen together, but we couldn't keep our hands off of—"

"Oh, Merlin!" Poppy interrupted. She cringed at her lack of tact but it was difficult for her to think of the venerable Headmistress or her young mentee in such a way. They were all adults but the shock had still not worn off. She had never suspected that they were anything but friends. "What happened after that?"

"Well... we kept it secret... It _was_ the 1950s. When we began pursuing our Masterys, things became easier. Minerva did her Mastery with Albus so there was little to fear there and we didn't flaunt our relationship. We were able to rent an apartment together near Hogsmeade and, being students, it was perfectly acceptable for the time."

"I see," said Poppy, trying to put Clara's story into perspective. "So you have been in a relationship, then, for _forty years_?"

"Yes, and married for twenty-five," said Clara. "One would think that after all this time I'd know what to do to help her."

Poppy gave her a matronly look. "You do know what to do, Clara. You did everything right in the memory you showed me. You were caring but still firm, attentive, loving—that's all she needs right now."

"But she's different than she was then or even ten years ago! She won't let me in! I don't know what she's thinking or feeling anymore!" Clara was rubbing her temples as she always did when she was distressed.

"I know, dear. This is difficult. You won't want to hear this but you must remain patient."

"There's nothing I can do?" Clara's voice was becoming increasingly shrill.

Poppy knew better than to touch her mentee when she was emotional. She was most likely retreating into her own mind and would be unresponsive to any well-meaning hug or pat on the back. Poppy marveled at how little her mentee had changed over the years. Of course she had matured and was better tempered, but many of her reactions were the same as they always were. Poppy knew that the best thing she could do would be to just keep talking.

"Minerva has agreed to meet with me twice a week for therapy and has thankfully delegated some of her duties to Filius. I will give her nutrition potions when needed and will monitor her vitals but when she's with you, encourage her to eat good meals at normal mealtimes. Also, encourage her to rest as much as possible and go to bed at a reasonable time. Do you understand?"

Clara nodded.

"The most important thing you can do, Clara, is love her. You know how to do that. You're already doing it, right?"

Clara nodded again.

"Alright. Will you be able to go back to work?"

"Oh." Clara rubbed her eyes then met Poppy's gaze. "Yes, I'm fine. You'll keep me updated though, won't you?"

"Of course," Poppy said. "It will take time, dear, but you will get through this."

"I know," said Clara sadly, "but even so, I've never felt so helpless."


	6. Chapter 5

Clara glanced at her watch. It was Friday and the workday had ended thirty minutes ago. Almost a fortnight had passed since Poppy had come to visit her at the Ministry and she was looking forward to finally spending the weekend with her wife. Nevertheless, Clara was also quite nervous. From what Poppy had told her, it had been a difficult week. Minerva was accustomed to suffering in silence and whenever Poppy came across a tender issue in therapy, she would either clam up or unleash her Scottish ire. Clara had come to know this side of Minerva quite well in recent years so it did not surprise her, but she still hoped for faster progress. She missed her wife, she missed their closeness, and she missed having a confidante.

The war had not only been hard on Minerva; Clara had suffered as well. Though her memory had been obliviated for most of it, the recovery from the spell had been horrendous. It had taken almost a year for her to get all of her memories back and she suffered daily from migraines that would leave her vomiting and writhing on the floor. Minerva had looked after her then. She had been considerate and caring, much like she still was now, but it had seemed, even then, that a part of her was missing. She was flat, nothing seemed to move her. She could no longer laugh or cry.

Clara had worried that her condition was too much for her wife to handle so she hired a healer's aid from St. Mungo's. She thought that if she could relieve some of Minerva's burden, then they could devote more time to each other. Now that the war was over and they had both survived, they could talk, read, hike, or even make love to each other without fear. Maybe after Hogwarts was rebuilt and the Ministry was functioning, they could travel or at the very least reveal their marriage to the public so they could walk around Hogsmeade without pretending to be "dear" friends. However, despite Clara's attempts to get closer, Minerva kept pulling away. She became colder, sicker, darker, and made excuses as to why she could not come home or why she could not meet Clara for lunch.

Clara didn't know how to help. Minerva refused to speak to her about it and whenever she brought it up, Minerva would not write to her or floo her for days. Clara began to wonder whether or not Minerva still loved her. She felt guilty for having such thoughts when Minerva was obviously unwell but she was so alone, even when Minerva was sitting right next to her. These same thoughts ran through Clara's head often and were running through her head today as she collected her things to meet Minerva at Hogwarts.

Clara wrapped her thick cloak around herself and put on her wool pointed hat. Swinging her messenger bag over her shoulder, she jogged to the apparition point and disapparated. Hopefully she wouldn't be too late. When she arrived outside the heavy steel gates, she rang the cowbell that was hanging on a rope three times and was soon met by a scurrying Filius who ushered her through.

"Clara, my girl! Hello!" he squeaked.

"Hello, Professor Flitwick. How are you?"

"Good… quite good!" He was a little out of breath from trying to keep up with his short legs.

"Your Ravenclaws are keeping you on your toes, I hope?"

"Ha… yes… though none quite as much as you did."

Clara blushed. She was a bit of a know-it-all as a first year. _If only I still "knew it all"_, she thought. Her helplessness with regard to Minerva distressed her greatly. She wondered if Filius might know what to do but he scurried off as soon as they stepped foot in the Great Hall. Noticing that a group of Hufflepuff girls were staring at her curiously, she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, ignoring their murmurs as she walked passed.

When she rounded the corner to the hospital wing, Poppy met her at the door and pulled her inside. The Healing Matron cast a silencing spell around them so that they could talk in privacy but she still leaned in close and spoke in a tense whisper as if something terrible might happen if they were caught.

"It's the glamor charms," she breathed, "they're wearing off. Most of the staff and even some of the students are beginning to notice."

Clara cringed at how uncomfortable she knew this would make her wife. There were limitations to glamors, the largest being that they were most potent when people didn't know you well or they weren't looking directly at you. Minerva probably felt cornered right now and would not be in the best mood.

"Has anyone said anything to her?"

"Pomona has and of course Filius. Septima hasn't said anything to her yet but she came to me yesterday morning."

"What about the students?"

"The students have been talking amongst themselves."

_Ahh,_ Clara realized, that explains why the Hufflepuff girls were so interested in her arrival. Even if the students didn't know about their marriage, they were aware that she and Minerva often departed from the castle together on Fridays. In many ways, the students were the most perceptive individuals there.

"There was one student, though," Poppy continued, "a Slytherin, a second year. He left a tin of ginger newts on her desk. It really was a well-intentioned gesture, he's a nice chap, but it just made Minerva suspicious."

Clara was confused. Why would Minerva be suspicious of a twelve year old boy? "Did you—," she began but was hushed by Poppy who canceled the silencing spell and loudly changed the topic of conversation.

"…well I'm so glad your lecture went well. I'll tell John you said, "Hello" when I see him this weekend."

"Thanks, Poppy—for everything," Clara replied. Poppy must have warded the infirmary to let her knew when Minerva was approaching.

Sure enough, Clara heard the swooshing of a curtain being pulled back and turned towards the sound. Minerva was walking towards them, fastening the top clasp of her heavy emerald robe. She held her head high as if nothing was wrong but she was so fragile. Clara could see right through the glamors. The bones in her face and the tendons running down her pale neck were painfully visible. This time, like each and every time Clara laid eyes upon her wife, her heart felt like it was being ripped from her body. She had the urge to crouch down on the floor, pull out her hair, and scream but all she could do was stand there wearing the phony smile she had trained herself to put on whenever she was around Minerva.

"Min!" greeted Clara, willing her voice to be cheerful. At least Minerva was coming home this weekend.

"Clara." Minerva greeted in return. She raised her eyebrows questioningly at Clara and Poppy, willing them to tell her what they were talking about.

"Ready to go?" asked Clara before Poppy could say anything.

"Yes, just about."

There were a few minutes of awkward shuffling. Minerva had a house elf bring her cloak and bag and when she was bundling up, Poppy gave Clara a few phials of Sleeping Draught and a digestive elixir which she slipped into her pocket. When they finally apparated to the McGonagall Manor, they were relieved to see that the fires had already been lit and the house was warm despite no one living in it for a few weeks. It was early October but the winds were already biting.

As soon as they walked through the door, they could smell the nutty, meaty aroma of something being roasted for their dinner. It seemed that Nora and Jolly, the house elves, were as eager to have Minerva home for the weekend as Clara was. Minerva, however, promptly rushed upstairs without saying a word and Clara, feeling like she'd been jilted, went to the living room to curl up on the sofa and wait for her wife would come down.

Clara tried to ignore the way in which Minerva was always in such a rush to get away from her but could not suppress the hurt. She covered her mouth so as to not make a sound as tears escaped and slid down her cheeks and over her hand. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of her and her chest hurt. It had been two weeks since Minerva agreed to come home and Clara knew it would be difficult but she did not expect to be abandoned while still standing in the foyer.

Clara noticed that Minerva's tartan throw was hanging over the arm of the sofa and she wrapped it around herself. She brought the fuzzy material to her nose and took a deep breath. It smelled like Minerva. There was the unmistakable smell of her lavender shampoo and the sweet, herbal scent of the wild heather oil she wore like perfume. Clara pulled the blanket tighter. She still could not stop crying but the sensation made her feel calmer and more secure. She soon began to feel sleepy and drained, and she let her eyes drift closed.


	7. Chapter 6

Clara was awakened by a muffled thump. She blinked a few times to bring her eyes into focus. As she scanned the room, her gaze fell upon her wife who was turned towards the bookcase, reaching for something on the highest shelf. She had changed into a jumper and a pair of baggy grey sweatpants and looked much more comfortable than she did in her high-necked robes. Minerva stood on her tiptoes and maneuvered a large book down with her fingertips. Clara quickly closed her eyes before Minerva could turn around and catch her staring. As she willed her eyelids to stay shut, she got the tingly feeling that Minerva was looking at her. It was silent for a moment and she then heard Minerva pad softly out of the room.

_What was that book?_ Clara wondered. They owned so many books that she couldn't remember what they kept on that shelf. Why was Minerva suddenly so interested in reading that particular one?

Clara unfolded herself and stood up. Her muscles were stiff from being curled up on the sofa but she felt a little less emotional after the nap. She stretched and decided to try to find Minerva. Clara walked around the first floor, peeking into the dining room and the kitchen before going upstairs to check the bedroom and Minerva's office. She caught Minerva coming down the stairs as she was going up.

"Min, I was looking for you."

"Good, because I was coming down."

Their conversation was stilted and awkward.

"Are you ready for dinner?" Clara tried.

Minerva frowned but nodded and they both made their way to the dining room. Nora and Jolly were already there setting the table. When they saw Minerva, they screamed with delight. "Mistress Nerva!" They jumped up and down and their big ears flopped like a puppy's.

Clara smiled at the house elves' antics. They had been in Minerva's family for as long as any of them could remember and even though they were free elves, they were still extremely loyal.

Jolly, who only came up to Minerva's waist, grabbed her hands and pulled her to the table and Nora pushed on her bottom and guided her to the chair. Clara sat opposite and the elves popped away and then popped back with a glass dish of moussaka. Clara leaned in to smell the creamy, spicy aroma of the Greek delicacy. She pointed to Minerva's plate and after she nodded her consent, served her a round of roasted eggplant and spooned some of the creamy sauce on top. Clara served some for herself as well and began eating as Jolly brought a bottle of red wine and poured two glasses. Minerva clinked her glass against Clara's and murmured, "To the future," before taking a big gulp.

"To the future," said Clara in return and put her fork down for a moment to watch her wife. _The future_, she thought. _What a thought-provoking notion. What will the future hold for us?_

The prospect both gave her hope and frightened her. It seemed as though their future could only be at the extremes of very good or very bad. Right now, a lot of Clara's suffering came from the fact that she did not know what was to come next for them. Minerva was sick but could still perform her duties. They were growing apart but they still cared for each other. It was like purgatory. Clara feared that it would be something very big or very bad that would ultimately mend their relationship or completely destroy it.

Minerva picked up her fork and knife and went about cutting her food into small pieces. To Clara's relief, she took a bite, then another. That was one battle that they wouldn't be fighting tonight. Clara hadn't served her a lot of food but it was enough for right now.

When they had both finished, Minerva looked directly at Clara for the first time that evening. "Would you like to watch a movie?"

It took Clara a few seconds to comprehend what her wife had just said. She had expected Minerva to ask about work or the Ministry to fill the silence but a movie? "Sure," Clara stammered, "um, yeah, uh, your choice."

Clara led the way to her office which was down the hall from Minerva's. She had always been more interested in Muggle technology than her wife and had set up a small TV and DVD player that she had managed to charm so that they would work without Muggle electricity. She brought out the box of DVDs from the credenza for Minerva to look through and left to change out of her work clothes.

Clara pulled a pair of plaid pajama pants and a ragged Holyhead Harpies sweatshirt from her chest of drawers and slipped into them. Though she was in her own bedroom, the one she shared with Minerva, she'd taken to sleeping on the futon in her office when they spent the weekend together at the Manor. They had never spoken about it but Clara had begun to feel as if she was intruding on Minerva's privacy. It made her angry whenever she thought about it. This was her bedroom as well and considering the other drastically more intimate things they used to do in that room, sleeping in the same bed should be the slightest of intrusions.

Clara slipped her feet into a pair of fleece slippers and went back to her office. When she got there, Minerva was already sitting on the futon, sipping from a big mug. She turned towards Clara when she heard her come in.

"Ready? I had Nora bring tea." She pointed towards the tea tray that had been set on Clara's desk.

"Yeah, go ahead," said Clara as she poured herself a mug and sat down next to her.

Minerva pressed play and the opening sequence began—The Lord of the Rings—a choice that was relatable to both Muggles and magical folk.

Throughout the movie, Clara kept glancing over at her wife. They had only said a few words to each other the entire evening and Clara felt tense as usual. Minerva, however, looked slightly more relaxed as she was lost in the breathtaking scenes of Middle Earth. She didn't even notice Clara looking at her. The change was barely perceptible but Clara hoped Minerva really was getting better. She finally went to Poppy for help, after all. Still, the war had been hard on both of them but the effects on Minerva had lingered for so long. It had been seven years since the end of the war and Clara still did not know what was causing Minerva to suffer so much. The situation perplexed her. She was losing the person she thought she knew and who she thought had known her.

As the credits rolled, Minerva patted Clara on the shoulder in an awkward substitute for a hug and went to bed. Clara followed suit, curling up on the futon without bothering to put the sheets on it. She wasn't tired yet. There was too much on her mind.

* * *

><p>Clara awoke the next morning as the sun shone through the window of her office and onto her face. She edged her feet onto the ground and leaned on her thighs, laying her head on her knees. She felt worn out. Work and worrying about Minerva had taken a lot out of her.<p>

Clara looked at her watch. It was 11:00 already; she had overslept. Minerva would have been awake for hours now.

Using her arms, Clara pushed her achy body off of the futon and slowly made her way down the stairs to the dining room.

Jolly, who had heard her wake up, was placing a tray of coffee on the table.

"Morning, Jolly. Where's Minerva?" Clara asked.

"Good morning, Mistress Clara. Mistress Nerva is in the library."

Clara poured two mugs of coffee and climbed the two flights of stairs to the upper floor. Bookshelves lined all of the walls and there were more shelves free-standing in the middle of the room. Large books, which did not fit on the shelves, were stacked on the floor and on top of tall tables that were scattered about the room. Knowledge and leaning were very important components of both Clara and Minerva's life together and this room was a natural result of that.

Clara meandered through the maze of shelves and found Minerva curled up on one of the puffy armchairs that faced the large bay window. She handed Minerva a mug of coffee and sat on the upholstered window ledge.

"I'm sorry for waking up late," Clara apologized but she really wasn't sorry. She was happy to have Minerva home but she didn't know what to do to entertain her all day. It was always difficult to strike a balance between awkward silences, fighting, and spending quality time together.

Minerva gestured towards the sweatpants and jumper she was still wearing. "It's okay. I woke up late too."

Minerva put her book down on an end table and took a sip of the coffee. Clara noted that it was not the same book as the one she got from the living room the day before.

Clara drank some coffee as well to give herself a moment to think. She didn't want to be stuck in the Manor all day. She had an idea. "Would you like to go on a hike? It's been a while since we've gone up to Phoenix Peak."

Minerva smiled. "Yeah, that sounds good." She chugged the rest of her coffee as she stood up. "I'll ask Nora and Jolly to bring our gear." She then turned on her heel and swept from the room.

Clara was left alone—again, wondering what was so wrong with her, or with her wife, that they could not spend a few pleasant moments together in their own home.

* * *

><p>The ancient trees on Phoenix Peak were adorned in vibrant reds, oranges, and golds. In the high afternoon sun, the mists had cleared enough for the two women to see the smooth emerald hills and craggy rock formations of the highlands below.<p>

Clara unclipped the waist strap of her backpack and shrugged it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. They had reached the summit in a little less than two hours. It was not a difficult hike but Poppy had warned Clara not to allow Minerva to do anything too strenuous.

"Min?" Clara asked, "How are you feeling?"

Minerva dropped her pack as well and sat with her feet hanging over the rocky ledge. "Fine," she said. There was a touch of anger in her voice. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Clara was surprised by the sudden change in her wife. They hadn't talked much on the hike but she had thought that it had been pleasant. The scenery had been beautiful and she had thought that Minerva was enjoying herself.

"Well, um," she had to pick her words carefully. "You are extremely frail right now and I'm concerned that you might need a nutrition potion if we are going to hike back home."

"Don't be concerned, I'm fine!" Minerva snapped.

Clara tried to keep her emotions under control but her face was getting hot and her fists were clenched. Minerva's blood sugar was probably low, that's why she was acting like this. Clara, however, was getting tired of being treated like an annoyance in Minerva's life.

"Minerva, please take the potion." Clara gritted her teeth. She fished the nutrition potion out from the front pocket of her pack and held it out to her wife.

Minerva just stared at it but gave no indication of complying. Clara was now angry.

"Merlin's beard, Minerva! Take the bloody potion!"

Minerva was shaken from her thoughts. "Why?!" she screeched.

Clara threw her hands in the air. "I don't want you to die!"

The pressure that had been building between them was finally released.

"Let me die!" Minerva screamed.

"What?!"

Minerva stood up and came closer. "I said, let me die!"

Clara could not believe what Minerva had just said. "No, I won't." She felt tears welling up. "I won't do that."

Minerva zipped her Muggle rain slicker up to the neck and wrapped her arms around her middle. "Why not? I'm a failure."

Tears now freely streamed down Clara's face. How could the most decorated witch of their time, full of Gryffindor pride, consider herself a failure? How could the woman she loved think such a thing? "No, Minerva," she said, "you are not a failure."

Minerva shook her head. Her emerald eyes were becoming cloudy. "You don't know," she moaned. "You don't understand." She wrapped her arms tighter around herself and doubled over as if in pain.

Clara rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Minerva. The fragile woman struggled but Clara held her to her chest with her strong arms. Finally, too exhausted to keep fighting, Minerva sank into the embrace and whimpered, "don't… don't…," as Clara rocked her back and forth.

Minerva summoned enough energy to push herself away. She took a few steps back and wiped her eyes on her sleeves. "Can I have a Powerbar?" Her voice was raspy from crying.

Clara retrieved one of the bars from her pack and tossed it to her wife and Minerva caught it with her quidditch player reflexes and ripped it open.

"Can we hike back?" Minerva asked.

Clara pursed her lips but nodded her consent. As much as she thought it would best for Minerva to apparate, she did not want to get into another fight. She had eaten something so she should be fine for a little while. Plus, Clara needed to calm down herself before going home.

The rest of the evening was much like their first evening together. Minerva hid in her office until dinner and they watched another movie before Clara crashed on the futon and Minerva retired to the bedroom. As Clara lay awake, looking at the ceiling of her office in the dark, she replayed the day over and over gain in her mind.

A failure. That's what Minerva thought she was. That was the first time Clara had heard her say such a thing. It was unfathomable to her. What could possibly have happened to her to make her think that? What had really happened during the war? Why had she kept such a thing from her for so long? Did she do something to cause Minerva to believe this about herself?

Clara was wide awake. Her incessant thoughts would not stop and she resigned to lying awake, staring at the ceiling.

* * *

><p>The smell of brewing coffee lured Clara from her office in the early morning and she wandered down to the kitchen in search of a large, steamy mug of the revitalizing beverage. She had not slept at all the night before and could feel a headache coming on. Despite all the time she had to think, she had not come to any enlightening conclusions. She had to talk to Minerva today. They had to have a real conversation.<p>

As Clara shambled into the kitchen, Nora apparated with a soft pop and handed her a mug of coffee. When Clara and Minerva had moved into the Manor together after they had completed their Masterys, Nora and Jolly had enchanted the entire residence with intricate wards that allowed them to detect whether or not occupants were in need of assistance.

Clara smiled as she warmed her hands on the mug. "Nora, you are so good to me."

The little elf blushed. "How is Mistress this morning?"

"I'm alright, thank you. How are you?"

Nora's brow wrinkled and her pointy ears drooped. "Nora is good," she reverted to speaking in the third person in her distress, "but Mistress Nerva did not eat the breakfast Nora made."

This wiped the smile from Clara's face. "Nora, what happened? Where is Minerva now?"

"Mistress Nerva came down for breakfast but then she tell Nora that she going back to bed. She be looking really tired." Nora's ears flicked up. "Mistress Nerva in the shower now."

Clara set her mug on the counter and jogged up the stairs to the bedroom. She knocked on the door. "Minerva?" She could hear the water running.

Something felt wrong. Clara could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She pressed her ear against the door. "Minerva, can I come in?"

There was a loud thud and the sound of shattering glass. "Alohomora!" Clara screamed, wandlessly unlocking the door.

Minerva was sprawled on the bathroom floor. She was halfway out of the shower, bent unnaturally over the tile curb. The glass walls lay in shards all around her and she was covered in cuts. There was blood on the floor by her right arm.

Clara wandlessly banished the glass from the floor and rushed towards Minerva. She gathered her crumped body and grabbed her arm. There was a deep laceration running in a jagged line from her wrist to her elbow. Clara could see glass in the wound—she didn't have the skill to remove the shards or heal it without causing more damage. Clara wandlessly summoned a towel which she charmed to wrap around Minerva's arm like a tight bandage. She slipped one arm under Minerva's knees and cradled her torso with the other. When she stood up, Minerva's head fell back and her wet, stringy hair hung to Clara's knees.

Clara felt numb, paralyzed. She could hardly recognize the skeletal creature she was carrying. It was pale, breastless, grotesque. She clenched her eyes shut, bringing her thoughts back under control.

Minerva. She was holding Minerva. She had to get to St. Mungo's. She needed to apparate. She needed a wand.

Clara spun around. Minerva's wand was on the vanity as it always was when she used the bathroom. Clara edged towards the vanity and grasped the wand with the hand that was under Minerva's knees. She closed her eyes once more to help herself focus and disapparated.

As soon as her bare feet touched the cold laminate floor of the St. Mungo's Emergency Department, Minerva was whisked from her arms by a team of healers. One levitated her towards a gurney, another began casting diagnostic spells, one was positioning a sheet around her body, and a third just seemed to be yelling.

Clara was confused and disoriented. She felt like she was underwater. When the healers began pushing the gurney towards a set of double doors, she followed them but was grabbed from behind and pulled into a chair, surrounded by a bunch of other people. Her senses seemed to be fading in and out. "Wait… come back… report…okay," she heard but none of it made sense. Around her it was just a sea of faces but one face pulled her back into reality.

"Mrs. Quick!" Clara's voice was high and weak like a child's as she called out for her secretary.

The older woman was sitting in a chair right across from hers. A young boy, probably seven or eight years old, lay across two chairs with his head in Mrs. Quick's lap. "Madam Caspary?"


	8. Chapter 7

Poppy Pomfrey stepped out of the lift at St. Mungo's Hospital and strode down the long corridor. She had received a letter, just minutes prior, summoning her to the hospital and she reviewed the letter as she walked to prepare herself for what she might see.

_Dear Poppy Pomfrey, Healing Matron of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,_

_As primary healer of Minerva Katherine McGonagall, I am writing to inform you that this morning at 5:34 AM, Headmistress McGonagall was brought to St. Mungo's Emergency Department._

_The following information has been received from a licensed healing aid. The patient was unconscious upon initial presentation. The patient sustained a 200 mm laceration of the right forearm. Glass fragments were removed from the laceration. Skin, muscle, arterial, and nerve tissue were mended. The patient was administered a Double Blood potion. The patient sustained 56 small lacerations on the arms, legs, and abdomen which were cleaned and mended. A diagnostic spell indicated hypotension, low body temperature, and a weakened magical core. Temperature at time of diagnostic was 35.8, blood pressure was 82/51, pulse was 49, and magical core was 634/742. The patient was emaciated and the diagnostic indicated malnutrition. The patient remained unconscious for 30 minutes following arrival. Upon regaining consciousness, the patient was lethargic but responsive and oriented._

_Please report immediately to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, 19__th__ floor, Room 368A._

_Helena Harrison, Administrator_

Poppy scoffed and shoved the letter back into the pocket of her apron. Minerva's condition was not fatal but the letter told her nothing of what had actually happened. Where did the shards of glass come from? Where was Clara? How did Minerva get to St. Mungo's? Poppy cursed the length of the hallway and the inability of her aging body to move more quickly. When she finally reached the room, she wanted nothing more than to punch the healing aid that had written the vague report but instead, she slipped inside as quietly as she could.

Minerva was lying in a hospital bed, covered up to her chin by a maroon blanket. Seated in a small sitting area next to the bed was a middle aged witch with short blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. The woman was Helena Harrison. Poppy had met her on many occasions as Healing Matron of Hogwarts but it was rare for Helena, as Administrator, to see patients these days. She had probably made an exception for Minerva.

"Poppy," Helena greeted, looking up from the stack of paperwork she was working on.

"Healer Harrison," Poppy replied respectfully. She went to the bed to get a better look at Minerva. The frail woman was practically buried in the thick wool blanket. Just her head stuck out but Poppy could see that her pale skin was ashen and her hair, which was arranged haphazardly around her pillow, was frizzy and dry. Her mouth was slightly open and her lips were crusty. She seemed to be sleeping deeply.

Helena stood and went to the bed as well. She tutted at the headmistress' messy appearance. "A healer will be in in just a minute to clean her up. She regained consciousness about an hour ago but she was given a Dreamless Draught right after we assessed her cognitive functioning.

Poppy nodded. "What happened?"

Helena sat back down and motioned for Poppy to do the same. "We were all taken by surprise, really. I just had my first cup of coffee and Clara Caspary apparates right into the middle of the waiting room of the ED carrying some naked woman that looks like she'd been hauled up from the bottom of the Great Lake. We didn't believe it was McGonagall until we cast the initial diagnostic spell."

Poppy grimaced at Helena's crude description. She was a preeminent healer but also had the tendency to be insensitive.

"She's doing fine," Helena reassured her, "for now. She fainted in the shower and fell through the glass surround. She got a bad cut on her arm and lost some blood. We fixed that, but that's not my major concern." Helena fixed her gaze on Poppy. "It's her mental health I'm concerned with."

Poppy nodded in agreement. "I've only been aware of the seriousness of her condition for two weeks now but I've began providing psychotherapy as well as nutritional support."

"Good… good." Helena stroked her chin. "I've kept Madam Caspary updated. She's told us quite a bit but I also wanted to speak with you. I know very little of what's happened up until now, but using Muggle terminology, I believe she has depression, post-traumatic stress, and possibly an eating disorder."

The diagnostic criteria felt cold and inadequate to Poppy. She understood the usefulness of such terms but having worked with clients, she knew there was much more to psychic pain than those labels could convey. "She's suffered quite a bit in her lifetime," said Poppy. "She has many regrets and too much responsibility."

"I have no doubt," said Helena gruffly.

Poppy continued. "I've only seen her four times thus far for psychotherapy but I agree with your diagnoses. She meets the criteria for PTSD and has been suffering from Major Depression for much longer. She feels extreme guilt and a sense of worthlessness that are amplified by both conditions. I haven't explored the food issue in great detail but I do believe it has progressed into an eating disorder. She's uncomfortable around food and restricts her caloric intake."

Poppy took a deep breath. She was beginning to feel disconcerted at her lack of knowledge regarding Minerva. "She's the most reticent client I've ever worked with. I'm focusing on gaining her trust right now."

Helena fidgeted in her chair. "I know. That's why I'm considering admitting her to Psych so that we can administer Veritaserum."

"What?!" Poppy was taken aback by such a suggestion. Clara would never allow her wife to be forced to talk and Minerva would never forgive them for it. "No, we cannot do that! Anything before that!"

"What do you suggest then?" Helena asked. Her voice was slightly more husky, indicating her growing frustration. "She was lucky that she was not injured more seriously today. Time is a factor, here!"

Poppy sat up in her chair and made eye contact with the Head Healer. "Minerva sought help from me _herself_. I will not engage her in a battle of wills! It will never work! I will continue to counsel her—without shortcuts."

"Fine, but she needs to take time off." Helena's voice was unemotional as she bargained. She had the best poker face Poppy had ever seen. It was unnecessary, however, because Poppy agreed with her. Helena's authority would be helpful in convincing Minerva to step away from Hogwarts for a little while.

There was the sound of footsteps in the hallway and a soft knock. Helena looked over Poppy's shoulder towards the door. "Healer Alfassi, come in." There was a shuffling noise as someone entered the room and shut the door behind them.

Helena redirected her attention to Poppy. "Healer Alfassi will be caring for Minerva while she's here. She's the only healer, other than you and myself, assigned to this case. She is my Chief Intern and is extremely competent." It was rare for Helena to give anyone a complement.

Helena pulled up her sleeve and looked at her watch. "In two hours we will wake Minerva and discuss her options. Madam Caspary is in the Medicinal Garden." She gathered up her papers and shrunk them to fit in the pocket of her robes. "I will be back."

A young woman with olive skin and brown hair walked into the room and gave Poppy a polite nod. She made her way to the bed and began peeling the blankets from Minerva's arms and legs, keeping her torso covered to maintain her decency. Poppy approved of the young healer's thoughtful gesture. Even though Minerva was asleep, it was respectful of the young woman to acknowledge Minerva's need for dignity.

Healer Alfassi retrieved her wand and spoke the incantations for a series of cleansing and disinfecting spells. She waved the wand over Minerva's limbs and lifted the blanket briefly to clean the cuts on Minerva's stomach. After she was done, she gently raised Minerva's head, smoothing her hair, and wandlessly cast a spell to secure it in a loose braid. She then summoned a tin of healing ointment from the bedside table and began to apply it to Minerva's skin.

Poppy stepped closer to get a better view of Minerva's injuries. There were no open wounds but there were pink marks cross-crossing her skin where the cuts had been healed with magic.

Healer Alfassi turned Minerva's arm over so Poppy could see where the worst cut had been healed. The skin was puckered into a curved magenta scar. "It was very deep," she said. She had a slight Middle Eastern accent. "Madam Caspary reacted like an auror. She transfigured a towel into a pressure bandage."

Poppy smiled. "She wasn't always so cool under pressure—she was my intern at Hogwarts."

"Ah," Healer Alfassi looked up briefly, "I studied at Hogwarts for a semester when I was young."

"Where are you from?" Poppy asked.

"Iran. I fled with my family when Death Eaters escaped to the magic districts."

Poppy was sad for the young healer. No one had been untouched by Dark Magic.

Healer Alfassi expertly turned Minerva onto her side and began to treat her back. Poppy came to stand next to her to get a better view. Minerva's body was wasting away. No glamor spells could hide the damage, now. She was skin and bones.

"When I was a child I had a Chocolate Frog card of her," said Healer Alfassi as she rolled Minerva back and repositioned the blankets. "I was too afraid to talk to her while I was at Hogwarts but I thought she was the most amazing woman I had ever met." She smiled at the memory. "She was intelligent, commanding, elegant…Superhuman, really. I wanted to grow up to be her."

"Yet we are all human," said Poppy.

"Indeed," agreed Healer Alfassi. She placed the tin of ointment back on the table and scourgified her hands. "I'm sure Madam Caspary is anxious to see Headmistress McGonagall. Page me if you need anything."

Poppy thanked the young healer and also thanked the Gods that they had not become as hardened as Helena Harrison.

* * *

><p>The Medicinal Garden, located on the uppermost floor, had a large vaulted ceiling made entirely of glass. The room was warm and steamy and sunlight easily shown down onto the rows of planting boxes filled with lush verdure and exotic flowers. The spicy, sweet odor of the plants was intoxicating and made Poppy a bit woozy. She heard someone call her name and started when Clara came bounding up to her.<p>

"How's Minerva? Is she awake? Can we—"

"Clara, dear! Hold on a minute!" Poppy stepped back to catch her breath. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, of course I'm fine," she huffed. "Have you been in to see Minerva?"

"I have. Minerva will be awaken in about an hour. Helena will discuss options with us all then."

"Okay…alright…" Clara chewed her thumbnail.

It suddenly struck Poppy as odd that they were in the Medicinal Garden. "Clara, why are you up here?"

Clara turned and motioned for Poppy to follow. "Mrs. Quick was in the emergency room with her grandson when I arrived."

"Is he okay?"

"Yes, broken foot. He's fine now."

Poppy saw a little boy race between the planting boxes. He stopped momentarily to pick a big pink flower but was thwarted by the Protego charm placed on the box.

"Mrs. Quick was kind enough to stay with me."

"I couldn't leave her in the state she was in," said Mrs. Quick to Poppy.

The older woman was sitting on a bench knitting, the Muggle way. She was wearing a fuzzy yellow jumper that was obviously handmade. Thin reading glasses were hanging around her neck on a beaded chain. A woolly blob of rainbow yarn hung from the ends of her knitting needles and spilled onto her lap. There was another blob next to her on the bench. "Juuust about done… there!" Mrs. Quick held up the blobs, one in each hand—slippers.

Clara looked at her, confused.

"You're not wearing shoes, Madam Caspary."

Clara looked down at her bare feet and blushed. "Oh, uh, thanks!" With her wild hair and the threadbare pajamas she was still wearing, the rainbow slippers did not make her look any more peculiar than she already did.

Poppy choked, trying to suppress a laugh. For all of Clara's intelligence and Ravenclaw pride, she was often completely unaware of her own self. This was especially true when Minerva was involved.

A commotion from above saved Poppy from more inappropriate laughter. A flock of owls swooped down from the charmed glass ceiling, carrying letters and small parcels. Some of the owls clutched small bouquets of flowers in their talons. A big black Daily Prophet owl dropped a stack of newspapers on the bench.

A word on the front page caught Poppy's eye. "McGonagall," she whispered. Her stomach dropped. She took the first paper from the stack and shook it open. Clara and Mrs. Quick did the same. The article was not large—there was no picture—but it was not something that would be overlooked.

Poppy read the headline aloud, "Headmistress McGonagall Admitted to Hospital."

"Shit!" Clara was becoming pale.

"Merlin's saggy…!" Mrs. Quick exclaimed. "Rita Skeeter! How did she know?!"

"Someone in the waiting room must have given her a lead!"

Poppy continued to read aloud, anger building. "Naked and emaciated…our favorite spinsters…secret affair…wishing her a speedy recovery?! The nerve!"

'Peaceful new age for the Wizarding World' be damned! Poppy never hated Rita Skeeter as much as she did right now.

Clara was still standing but had a vacuous expression on her face.

"Clara! Clara, dear!" There was no response. Poppy considered slapping her but decided not to. She gripped Clara firmly by the upper arms and sat her down on the bench.

"What do we do?" Poppy demanded.

"I don't know!" Mrs. Quick wrung her hands. "Let it pass, I guess! Clara and Minerva should take time off, let the news blow over. Clara can work from home."

"Yes…right." It was a good idea for now. Minerva would be taking time off anyways. Clara could join her. Maybe once the sensationalism of the article lessened, they could deny the story. Maybe they'd make a public statement about their marriage instead. Poppy hoped that after the war and trauma of the last decade, two witches being married would merely be a surprise to the Wizarding World, regardless of the witch's celebrity. But what if the story did not blow over?

"What about the Ministry? Hogwarts?" Poppy asked.

"The Department of Mysteries will protect them," Mrs. Quick answered. Poppy was grateful to have the other woman there. They had become an unlikely pair today—two matrons guiding two lost women.

Mrs. Quick's grandson giggled and ran over to them. Poppy pinched the bridge of her nose and signed. She had forgotten about the boy. "I'm sorry you've been dragged into this. You have enough to deal with right now."

"Nonsense. I'm only watching him for the weekend."

Poppy paused to look at the other woman. She hadn't noticed before, but her sweater had little badgers needle-pointed on it.

Clara, who had recovered somewhat, stood up. She still had the newspaper in her hand. "I need to see Minerva," she said and made her way towards the lift without bothering to say goodbye to her secretary.

Poppy knew that Clara was too emotional to think straight right now. She touched Mrs. Quick's shoulder. "We'll be in touch," she said apologetically before hurrying after Clara before she got on the lift without her.


	9. Chapter 8

Clara held her breath as Healer Harrison jabbed a needle into her wife's arm and injected a neon blue liquid. Minerva's eyes fluttered open but, assaulted by the harsh fluorescent lights, she cupped her hands over her face and rolled onto her side.

Clara felt Poppy's strong hands grip her shoulders and push her towards the bed. She stumbled forwards and sat at her wife's feet.

"Mmmm," Minerva curled into a ball. "It huuurts."

Clara did not know what to do to comfort her. When Minerva had been taken to St. Mungo's after Umbridge's stunner attack, she had held her wife's hand and kissed her forehead. Now, she didn't even know if Minerva wanted her there. She patted Minerva's leg—just to do something.

Minerva moaned again and pressed her face into the pillow. "My armmm."

Healer Harrison banished the empty syringe with a well-practiced flick of her fingers. "Good," she deadpanned, "that means you have feeling in the area." Poppy shot her a dirty look.

"What?" Minerva sat up. She looked at her arm and examined the scar. After a few moments, she looked up and narrowed her eyes. She scanned the room suspiciously. When her gaze fell on Healer Alfassi, she pinched her eyebrows together and barked, "Who are you?!"

The young healer flinched. "Foziah Alfassi. I'm here to take care of you."

"Hmm." Minerva threw back the sheets and slid off the bed. She glared at the healers and began to pace around the room, not even noticing that she was completely naked and seemed to have forgotten the pain in her arm.

Clara thought that she looked like some mistreated zoo animal. She was all bony and scarred. Her whole body trembled and she twitched every so often, clenching the muscles beneath her skin that were acutely visible from the lack of body fat.

Minerva reached up to rub the back of her neck. As she was turned away, Clara would see beads of sweat running down her wife's back.

"It's hot in here," Minerva panted. She turned on her heel to pace back the other way.

Clara was now able to look into her wife's eyes. The emerald retinas were almost obscured by grossly dilated pupils. One was more dilated than the other, giving her a crazed appearance.

Clara looked up at Healer Harrison. "What's going on?" She was surprised by how weak her voice was.

Helena crossed her arms. "The counter-potion to Dreamless Sleep—it's a stimulant."

"Is this normal?"

"No," answered Healer Alfassi, who was unfolding a hospital gown with pink flowers on it. She guided Minerva's unsteady arms into the sleeves. "Madam McGonagall, the counter-potion is having a stronger effect on you, probably because of your animagus traits."

"Oooh, _fascinating_," Minerva drew out the vowels as she spoke between her labored breaths. It was hard to tell whether she was being serious or mocking the young woman. Before she could finish tying the gown completely, Minerva pulled away from Healer Alfassi and leapt back onto the bed. She was still trembling and tugged at the gown uncomfortably. Healer Alfassi used her wand to cast a cooling charm.

"What in Merlin's name are _those_?!" Minerva blurted. She pointed at the rainbow slippers on Clara's feet.

"Mrs. Quick was in the emergency room with her—" Clara began but was interrupted by another of Minerva's brusque questions.

"What the hell is _that_?!" She snatched the Daily Prophet from Clara's hands.

Clara had forgotten that she was holding it. "Min, wait!"

The newspaper rustled in Minerva's shaking hands as she read. Her lips twisted into a sneer and she burst into raucous laughter. No one else in the room laughed.

_She's truly lost it_, thought Clara.

Minerva continued to cackle as she balled up the newspaper and tossed it into the air. "Incendio!" It burst into flames, leaving behind the acrid odor of burning ink. Little flecks of soot floated down onto the floor.

Out of the corner of her eye, Clara saw Healer Alfassi place another syringe in Poppy's hand. This one was half filled with a neon orange liquid.

Poppy approached the bed and patted Minerva on the knee. "Minerva, dear…Quick sting." She injected the liquid into Minerva's upper arm before she could protest.

Minerva yelped and out of instinct, Clara encircled her in her arms to keep her from falling off the bed. As she held Minerva's now limp body, Clara was overwhelmed with compassion. Minerva felt delicate against her, like a child. Her head rested under Clara's chin and she could feel her silky hair on her cheek. Clara lowered Minerva's head onto her lap and Poppy lifted her feet onto the bed. Minerva's skin was still hot to the touch but her breaths were now long and slow.

"Is she asleep?" Clara asked. She felt Minerva's jaw move on her thigh.

"No," came the whispered reply.

Clara stroked Minerva's hair. This, she mused, was the most intimate moment they had had in the last seven years. Even before the trauma and death, and all of the suffering, they had never had the freedom to simply be with each other. There was always the need to hide, always the fear of being found out. They had to abide by the Department of Mysteries' rules—they knew too much and their love for each other could have been used as leverage by the Dark Forces to gain information. At the same time, the Wizarding World might not have put their full trust in so-called 'lesbian playmates'. Their marriage would not have been seen as a real, productive one—just a distasteful pastime for women of their status.

Now, Clara worried, their secret had been exposed by the blasted article and more than that, Minerva's failing health had been brought to public attention. Clara did not consider herself to be the best strategist, but Rita Skeeter had dealt them an underhanded blow.

"Min," Clara said as she continued to stoke her wife's hair, "we need some time—you and me—to get better."

"The article…" Minerva whispered.

"We'll give it a few weeks…then decide what to do."

Minerva twisted her torso to look up at Clara. "Okay."

"Brave choice," remarked Healer Harrison. "I'll get the paperwork together to discharge you this afternoon."

* * *

><p>Clara walked down the magically extended hallway towards her wife's room. She was feeling more awake, having cleaned her teeth and transfigured her pajama pants into a casual skirt, and was levitating three styrofoam cups of coffee in front of her. She had been advised by Helena Harrison not to leave the area in case she was recognized due to the article so she had paid a candy striper to bring her the coffees from the stand in the lobby. Down the hall, Clara could just make out Poppy in her red and white healer's uniform as she entered Minerva's room. There were 500 rooms on this floor so in theory, if one knew exactly where the room was, they could apparate to it. Clara, however, did not want to spill the coffees. Some things in the Wizarding World were not made easier with magic unless one was skilled at conjuring spells. Minerva could easily conjure simple beverages but she was one of only a few Masters in transfiguration.<p>

Room 368A was one of the larger rooms set in an alcove, separated slightly from the rest of the floor. 368A and 368B could either be single rooms or, like they were now, joined together into a small suite. There were still a few more hours of waiting for diagnostic results and paperwork before Minerva would be discharged and Clara was looking forward to sitting in the extra bed and hiding away from the rest of the world for just a little while.

So far, no one had said anything to her about the article. Most of the patients and their families were worried about their own lives and illnesses but the candy stripers giggled and whispered amongst themselves whenever Clara walked past. She had to remind herself that they were just children in little striped smocks. She had even been a hospital volunteer once herself but the attention was making her uneasy. Most of these children were probably Minerva's students. Maybe they had parents at the Ministry that Clara knew. Neither Clara nor Minerva had ever liked the celebrity status that had come with their jobs and it was becoming increasingly clear that the only way for them to have a modicum of privacy would be to stay at the McGonagall Manor which was protected by the family's blood wards.

When Clara finally reached the room, the door was closed but from within, she could hear the soft murmur of Poppy's voice. Soon, it was replaced by her wife's loud, emotional shouting.

"How can you say that it's not my fault, Poppy?! Answer me! Those students were my responsibility! It's better off that I'm not there!"

Clara heard a third voice near to the door cast a muffliato charm and then started when the door swung open and she found herself standing face to face with Healer Alfassi.

"Ah, Madam Caspary, I was wondering if I may speak to you."

The young healer snagged two of the levitated cups out of the air and placed them just inside the room. She then closed the door behind her and entered another room across the hall. Clara followed and sat in one of the chairs next to an empty gurney. Healer Alfassi sat opposite.

"Are you okay?"

The empathy visible on the young healer's face and her soft Middle Eastern accent were comforting to Clara. "Yes, I'm fine…I think."

"Okay…Well, it's a lot, you know—all of this." She waved her hand in an all-encompassing gesture.

Clara couldn't help but chuckle. "Maybe I'm less than fine, then."

"There it is, the truth." Healer Alfassi smiled. "There are some things, though, that I need to talk to you about." She tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. "Firstly, you should know that the potion we've prescribed Madam McGonagall has some side effects that can be difficult to manage."

Clara felt the familiar sensation of her chest tightening with anxiety.

"The purpose of the potion is to increase her appetite and alleviate the depression somewhat but it won't be entirely pleasant. Restlessness and irritability are common as well as increased sex drive which can take some people by surprise."

"What do you mean?" The side effects of the Dreamless Sleep counter-potion had been alarming enough. "She's always restless and irritable and we haven't had sex in seven years."

Healer Alfassi blushed, reminding Clara how young the healer was compared to herself, and Clara felt embarrassed as well. She wondered how many same-sex couples the healer had come across during her internship. A sudden wave of nausea washed over her as she realized that it was possible that Healer Alfassi thought that her sexuality was disgusting. Clara's mind immediately went to the article. If either she or Minerva was a man there would be considerably less hype. Now, images of them having sex had been implanted into the minds of the Wizarding World. And Minerva was so fragile…

Clara crossed her arms over her chest. Healer Alfassi was looking at her with her head cocked to the side. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Clara partially lied. "I was just thinking about Minerva."

"Ah, well... one step at a time, yes? Has Healer Harrison told you the discharge plan yet?"

Clara shook her head.

"With Minerva being housebound, Madam Pomfrey cannot leave Hogwarts to treat her except for psychotherapy so I will be visiting you at your home every day to manage Madam McGonagall's potions and nutrition…but only if that is okay with you."

"Are _you_ comfortable with that?" Clara asked.

"For your privacy we don't want to draw more healers into this and I'm most available." Healer Alfassi sat back in her chair and raised her eyebrows. "Is there a reason I shouldn't be?"

"No, um…this is just new to me…being open about my relationship…with Minerva," Clara stammered. Healer Alfassi did not seem to be disgusted by her. "I don't know what others might think. When I was young…well, it was a different time."

"That's understandable," the young healer validated. "I feel comfortable treating Madam McGonagall, I respect her a great deal, and I also feel comfortable working with you." Her voice was soft but she sounded wise despite her years. "I don't have the authority to judge anybody."

Clara nodded but felt another flutter of anxiety. She cursed herself for not having her wife's bravery, or even that of Healer Alfassi, Poppy, or Mrs. Quick, who were so willing to come to their aid. Clara knew that the Wizarding World respected her for her intelligence and creativity. She was the pioneer of research concerning Potter's survival and Voldemort's demise—a love expert in an intellectual sense—but she did not feel any different than those three women. In truth, she was probably less knowledgeable than they were on how to save the love of her life.

* * *

><p>By the time they stumbled out of the fireplace of the McGonagall Manor, both Clara and Minerva were exhausted. It was only around 2:00 but the emotional highs and lows of the day had sapped them of all energy.<p>

Minerva gave Clara a weary look before heading up the stairs and Clara followed. She slid one hand along the bannister and held the other in front of her to catch Minerva in case she lost her balance. When they were safely on the landing, Minerva bee-lined for the bedroom and curled up on the bed without even bothering to put her pajamas on. She was still wearing her hospital gown as there hadn't been any reason to change since they had returned home using Helena's private floo.

As Clara tucked in the covers around her wife, Minerva opened one eye like a cat. "Don't sleep on the futon."

"Okay..." Clara said. She would do anything Minerva wanted her to do but she still felt awkward. She had been pushed away for seven years. One nap together would not make her suddenly feel welcome. "I'll be right back."

Clara left the room and shut the door behind her. She needed to give the house elves the meal plan Healer Alfassi had created so they could begin making dinner. Clara mused that for the next month at least, her wife's life had become a series of meals and snacks. Food and the importance of her eating it, which had once been routine, was now of the utmost importance.

As she walked out into the hallway, Clara noticed that the door to Minerva's office was slightly open. Though she only initially meant to close the door, her Ravenclaw curiosity drew her in.

Minerva's office at home was very similar to her office at Hogwarts. There were bookshelves, a comfy armchair, and a large desk cluttered with scrolls. A Gryffindor flag, a signed Harpies poster, and several animated pictures of various horned and fire-breathing creatures done in crayon (gifts from Minerva's nieces and nephews) were hung on the wall.

Clara took a deep breath. The room smelled like Minerva—parchment, books, ginger, and wild heather. It made her nostalgic of their early days together. They had found such peace in their profound understanding of each other.

A wave of exhaustion washed over Clara and she had the overwhelming need to sit down. She plopped down in Minerva's chair but something sticking out from underneath bumped her heel. She reached under the chair and removed a large, leather-bound book. It was the one that Minerva had taken from the living room two days ago. As Clara laid the book on her lap and dusted off the front cover, she gasped as she realized what it was. It was not a book at all but a photo album—_their_ photo album. Why was Minerva sneaking around with it?

Clara gingerly opened up to the first page and looked down at the laughing image of her wife. Minerva's head was thrown back and her dark hair cascaded around her shoulders. The corners of her eyes crinkled with mirth and her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. As she came to look at the camera, she stuck out her tongue and grinned.

Tears were streaming down Clara's face before she even knew what was happening. She remembered taking that picture. They were still living in Hogsmeade at the time. Clara couldn't remember what had made Minerva laugh but she remembered how captivated she was when she had snapped the picture. Minerva was the most enchanting woman she had ever met.

Clara turned the page and looked at the next image. It was Minerva again, wearing high collared teaching robes with her hair slicked back into its traditional bun. She raised her eyebrow at the camera in her well-practiced "I know what you're up to" smirk and then smiled brightly. Though formidable, she also looked very young. Clara realized that she must have still been a teaching assistant or in her very early years of her teaching career when the picture was taken. She would have still been working on her Mastery with Dumbledore.

Wiping away some of the tears that had begun to dry on her cheeks, Clara flipped to the middle of the album. She was surprised to find a picture of herself. In the image, she was wearing a dressing gown and was curled on a bed with her back to the camera. If it wasn't for the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders, it could have been mistaken for a Muggle photograph. From the angle of the camera, Clara could see that her knees were tucked up close to her chest, almost in a fetal position, and there were holes in her socks. The picture had been taken soon after she had completed her Mastery in magic theory. The burnout she experienced after finishing her thesis with Professor Petruchio, who was overly demanding, had thrown her into a deep depression for almost a year. The intense pain she felt in her heart and in her mind had been almost unbearable. During that time, Minerva had insisted on taking account of not only the good days but also the bad. She said that it was more realistic.

Clara thought about Minerva's own suffering. In just the last few days, she had confessed to feeling like a failure and she had overheard her tell Poppy that her students were better off without her. Clara wondered if that was Minerva being realistic or if her sense of reality was no longer as accurate as it was.

Clara shuddered. She had not only been scared for her wife but also _of_ her for a long time. Now that she was asking for her help, Clara didn't know whether or not she had the capability to give it and that scared her more than anything.


End file.
